A Surprising Confessor
by CapricaSix
Summary: One-shot: Eric confronts Blair and Chuck following the shocking revelation at the Ivy League Mixer. He wants to defend his sister and find confidence in himself, but what he gets will be so much more. Light Chuck/Eric slash.


**SUMMARY**: One-shot: Eric confronts Blair and Chuck following the shocking revelation at the Ivy League Mixer. He wants to defend his sister and find confidence in himself, but what he gets will be so much more. Light Chuck/Eric slash.

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Gossip Girl or any of its associated characters, though I do adore them. This story also contains subject matter pertaining to suicide and homosexuality, so if you find this offensive, please do not read further.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: This is my first piece of fanfiction, so I gladly welcome any reviews, comments, and constructive criticism you may have to offer. Also, a huge thank you goes out to my dear roommate and brilliant editor Allie, who has always encouraged me to write.

* * *

**A Surprising Confessor**

Eric was livid. Fists clenched, he paced back and forth in the corridor adjoining the Ivy League Mixer, currently unfolding on the veranda of St. Jude's. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the stunt that Blair had just pulled. There was a time – not too long ago – when Eric considered Blair a dear family friend, yet her latest actions had been so vindictive that he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to cause this divide.

Prior to his suicide attempt and subsequent recovery, Eric would have been content to sit idly by and let this latest malicious act – all too common in his Upper East Side enclave – go unaddressed. However, peering in on Blair and seeing the smug, complacent grin on her perfectly made-up face, he knew he had to say something. Serena had bore the brunt of Blair's slanderous accusation, and he was determined to stand up for his sister in kind.

Eric strode across the room to Blair's side, clearing his throat to get her attention. "Blair, can I speak with you? It'll only take a moment," he said, straining to quell the anger in his voice.

"Sure," she replied, somewhat bewildered.

He led her to a more private area of the party, took a deep breath, and said, "I don't know exactly what's going on between you and Serena, but before you go around spreading gossip, you may want to check your facts. Serena isn't a patient at the Ostroff Center—"

"—Look, Eric, you've always been a sweet kid, and I can understand you trying to protect your big sister—"

"—Please don't patronize me Blair. Serena was only there to visit me."

"Really?" she asked, taken aback. "No offense, but – come on, Eric – it's hard to imagine you with a substance abuse problem."

He let out a humorless laugh. "I'm not an addict and I'm not an alcoholic. I did this." He forcefully shoved his shirt sleeve up to reveal an angry scar on the inside of his wrist. "And today, Serena protected me."

For once, Blair didn't know what to say. The swollen red mark staring at her rendered her speechless. Misty-eyed, she managed, "Eric . . . I . . ."

". . . didn't see that coming?" he finished. "Yeah, well, it must come as a shock to someone who thinks she knows everything."

As he turned to storm off, Eric caught sight of the glint of a scotch tumbler. He tilted his head to see the owner of the glass. Chuck Bass, sporting an arrogant smirk, had been eavesdropping on their conversation. Eric felt a renewed sense of rage.

He strode up to Chuck and, with confidence he didn't know he possessed, acidly exclaimed, "Of course, I should have known. Blair wasn't capable of pulling off this little scheme by herself, so she called you in. You know, I can almost understand why Blair did what she did. Hell, I'd be pissed, too, if my best friend inexplicably left and didn't tell me. But what did you have to gain from any of this?" Chuck looked over the boy's shoulder toward Blair. Eric followed his line of sight and knew the answer instinctively. "Let me guess: You think a little snooping around will help you get into Blair's good graces? Or if not that, at least into her La Perlas? My god, you're pathetic."

Without another word, Eric turned and retreated to the school steps for some fresh air. Elated with the self-assurance he had displayed, he sat down and tried to steady himself as the adrenaline rush ebbed. Meanwhile, Chuck remained frozen, reeling from what the little Van der Woodsen had just said to him. He directed his eyes toward the spot where Eric had exited, feeling torn. Part of him wanted to destroy E; after all, no one talked to Chuck Bass that way. And yet, another part was intrigued. Apparently, the suicide attempt had worked wonders for Serena's once-meek brother. With a passing glance at the still shell-shocked Blair, Chuck sauntered out toward the steps to join Eric.

* * *

Eric was roused from his calm reverie by the clack of expensive loafers on cobblestone. He looked back to see Chuck casually approaching, refilled scotch glass in hand. He stood up, his body language defensive, but Chuck waved his manicured hand nonchalantly, stating, "Calm down, little Van der Woodsen. I'm not here to pick a fight with you."

"Okay," Eric drawled out. "So, what do you want?"

"Believe it or not, I wanted to . . . apologize." Chuck strained to say the last word and pulled his face, giving the impression that he had just tasted something foul. Admitting he was wrong ranked somewhere between Brooklyn intellectuals and cargo pockets on the list of things he despised. Eric stared back, wide-eyed, and attempted to keep his jaw from hitting the ground. He could hardly believe what he had just heard. Chuck waited for some kind of response but was only met with silence. Finally, he blurted out, "What?"

Eric shook himself and stammered, "Wow . . . I . . . I just can't believe that I'm getting an apology from Chuck Bass. This must be a rarity."

"Try a once-in-a-lifetime moment."

"Well, thanks, that . . . uh, means a lot."

Another silence persisted, leaving something unsaid in the space between them. Chuck could not fathom why this moment was so awkward; he usually knew exactly what to say, but remorse was unchartered territory for him. To break the tension, Chuck fell back to an old standard, "What do you say we smoke a peace pipe? I have my one-hitter in my limo."

"Really?" Eric's voice registered shock but also a hint of excitement, which surprised Chuck. In truth, Eric was no stranger to marijuana. After Serena left, on lonely nights when his mother was away at yet another gala, a joint could make the long hours blur into one another. The utter lack of parental supervision in his life gave him the opportunity to escape from his problems into a thick, indigo haze. Of course, he hadn't been able to indulge recently as drugs were generally frowned upon at a rehab facility. Still, the opportunity had presented itself and it would be rude to pass it up. Chuck cocked an eyebrow, and Eric realized he was taking too long to respond to his proposal. "Lead the way," he replied. "But first, can I have a sip of your scotch? As you know, it's been quite a trying day." Chuck's face broke into a crooked grin as he extended his glass toward Eric. His impression of the younger man was rapidly improving.

* * *

Twenty minutes and several hits later, Eric was feeling more relaxed than he had been in months. He reclined into the Italian leather of Chuck's back seat and stretched his arms out toward the sunroof. That's when he noticed that his sleeve was still rolled up, revealing his still-fresh scar. He quickly tugged it back down, an indiscreet gesture that did not escape Chuck's notice. Chuck looked over and shook his head slightly, then said, "You know, you shouldn't be worried about your scar showing. We all have them, some more visible than others. In our world, everyone has little skeletons in their closets."

"Yeah? I'm sure yours must be a walk-in," Eric retorted. The two boys shared a lazy chuckle and fell into a now-comfortable silence. Finally, Chuck tossed out, "So, why did you do it?"

Eric took a deep breath followed by another swig of scotch, wondering if he really wanted to tell Chuck. Uninhibited by smoke and drink, Eric decided it would be nice to tell someone why he had chosen to take his life. Someone he knew. Someone who wasn't a therapist. "Well, if you really want to know . . ." Eric said, more to himself than to Chuck. He turned toward Chuck and saw curiosity and sincerity in his red-rimmed eyes. With that, he unloaded the details of what the past year had been like: the physical and emotional abandonment he felt from his family, the ever-increasing feelings of loneliness and depression, and the crippling inability to find happiness in any aspect of his life.

Chuck listened attentively, nodding when appropriate, and as Eric's musings came to a natural stopping point, he considered the boy's predicament. "Still," Chuck said, feeling as though some element of explanation was still needed, "You didn't have to stay in the hotel by yourself. You're a Van der Woodsen; you have all the opportunities and pleasures that money can provide. Why not go out and exploit the privileges of your trust fund?"

"I'm not like Blair or Serena . . . I . . ." Eric struggled to focus his thoughts. "It's not easy for me to make friends or be the center of attention. There's always something there that sets me apart, keeps me feeling isolated."

"What? What is it?" Chuck prodded.

Eric, drained from the hectic events of the day, could no longer work up the energy to hide who he was. Chuck Bass made a surprising confessor, but for some reason, Eric was confident that he wouldn't judge him. He exhaled deeply, not even realizing he was holding his breath, and said, "I'm gay, Chuck. Not exactly an easy thing to be on the Upper East Side." The steadiness of his voice surprised him, and having finally vocalized the source of his depression, he felt a wave of relief crash over him. He shot a sidelong glance at Chuck, looking for some kind of reaction. Chuck met his stare, but failed to say anything in response. As the silence grew, so too did Eric's feelings of insecurity. Perhaps he had said too much, trusted too much. He directed his gaze toward the limo floor once more.

"Well, anyway, uh . . . thanks . . . for listening," Eric said in a small voice. He started to reach for the door handle, prepared to slink out of the vehicle, when Chuck's hand wrapped around his delicate wrist and lifted his sleeve just enough to reveal his scar. Chuck gave the wrist a chaste kiss, surprising Eric. His momentary shock, however, was eclipsed when Chuck pulled him into an embrace and pressed his full lips against those of the younger boy. Eric lost himself to this new sensation, and the kiss intensified.

How long Eric remained there, in Chuck's arms, he could not say. His Upper East Side life with all its problems was temporarily forgotten; he was happy. Then, a vibration in his pocket allowed reality to slip back in. He pulled away from Chuck and fished out his phone. His face dropped as he saw the words "Mom Cell" across the front screen. He suddenly remembered that his presence at this party was only a brief sojourn from his internment at the Ostroff Center. Breathlessly, he said, "I'm sorry, but I have to go. Serena and my mom will wonder where I am. I'm supposed to go back to the Center tonight."

"Pity," Chuck said, sounding slightly disappointed. "When's your sentence up?"

"I should be back at school in a couple of weeks."

Chuck looked at Eric through hooded eyes and said, "Well then, it looks like I'll be seeing you around."

"Yeah," Eric said, a smile spreading across his face. "I'll see you."

Eric got out of the car and made his way up the steps in search of his family. He told himself he wouldn't look back, but curiosity naturally won out. As he peered over his shoulder, he saw Chuck in the door to the limo, with his trademark cocky grin. Unable to help himself, Eric blushed and continued up the stairs at a more hurried pace. Chuck waited until Eric was out of sight before closing the car door. As his limo pulled away from St. Jude's, Chuck sat back and poured himself another glass from the bar, unable to keep a satisfied smile off his face.


End file.
